


The Tales They Tell

by felinedetached



Series: Of Spectres And Witches [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: A Fairy Tale kinda???, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Gen, Homophobia, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 09:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11825676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinedetached/pseuds/felinedetached
Summary: The town likes to tell stories.





	The Tales They Tell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EzzyAlpha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EzzyAlpha/gifts).



The town likes to tell stories. They like to point fingers and tell tales, especially tales about the old house resting at the top of the hill. They talk of flashing lights and haunting noises, creaks and groans heard from miles around.

 

They talk of the eldest son, dead, six feet under the ground in the house's private cemetery. Jade’s son mourns him, and they’re not sure why.

_ “He always was a weird one,”  _ they say, and they’ve never really been quite sure which ‘he’ they’re referring to. Everyone nods and agrees anyway.

 

They talk of the eldest daughter, partying every night always found with a glass in her hand. Corruption follows her every step, they say, labelling her demon ( _ succubus _ ), saying she lures their sons and daughters to their doom. Lures them to hell.

 

They talk of the youngest son, who rarely comes home, away with his partner - an unsavoury pairing, they say. He’s from a corrupted family, and his choice in. In  _ lover _ , is. Unnatural. They whisper when they talk of him however, as his choice in partner is known for a protective streak.

 

And they talk of the youngest daughter, dressed like a widow or a wrath, and they say that she is the cause of the noises. They don’t whisper when they talk of her. Calling her Witch, Demon, Unnatural. A heathen, a vessel of darkest gods to exist. Sometimes, her painted-black lips will turn up at the insults.

 

The town is unnerved by the family that lives at the top of the hill. They like to talk about ghosts haunting the place, and warn away their children with talk of demons in the night and the terrible, twisted fates that fell those who went to the house of the Lalonde siblings.

 

“ _ Even those demon children weren’t safe, _ ” they whisper voices so low that even the children they endeavoured to warn could barely hear it.  _ “One is dead.” _

 

If the remaining Lalonde siblings heard the townspeople talking ill of their brother, there would be hell to pay.

 

And once,  _ once _ , someone made a fatal mistake.

 

Rose Lalonde, the youngest daughter - and the scariest of all four siblings, many would say - was walking through the main square, when she overheard a conversation between two who had not known she was there, or intended her to overhear it.

 

They spoke ill of the dead.

 

One can only hope no one will speak ill of them.

 

The town, with their fears confirmed, began to speak less of her siblings. They focused their ill-intended gossip on her and her alone, but it seemed to have no ill effects. She continued on her way, sly smiles thrown at those who shivered in her presence, people backing away as she drifted through the main square.

 

The youngest Lalonde daughter became the plague of the town less than a day after the incident. Sometimes, just sometimes, one could see a shadow behind her as she moved - a deep black, writhing shadow, that seemed to reach out towards the whisperers. On those days, no one dared say anything.

 

But those days got more and more frequent. She could be seen wandering the streets at various hours of both the day and night, the town often silent and watching, not daring to do a thing as she wandered past.

 

Stories spread, of course, and Rose Lalonde soon became known the wrath of the town. People were reluctant to visit, as the stories that spread could send chills down one’s spine.

 

No one wanted to encounter Rose Lalonde in the middle of the night, with chalk on her dress and a ghostly shadow behind her.

 

The stories say she raised her brother from the dead, and bound his will to hers. If they bothered to ask him - or her, for that matter - they would find out the truth.

 

For tales will be tales, and tales passed by word of mouth are likely to be exaggerated. As such, Roxy Lalonde is no succubus, Dave Lalonde not unnatural, and Dirk Lalonde not bound in any way possible.

 

The only tales that retain any glimmer of truth are the tales the town tells of their resident witch, Rose Lalonde.

  
  



End file.
